


Let's hear it for America's Suitehearts

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Arson, Barbecue, F/M, Gen, Murder, Neighborhood Watch - Freeform, Suburbia, Watersports, author enjoys her own gimmick entirely too much, disinterested pussy eating between colleagues, in torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: for wish 87: "Post snake eater, Eva and Ocelot have to pretend to be a "Normal American Couple" in a house in the suburbs for a mission. They're the perfect american family, they've just got a guy tied up in their basement. Don't worry about it. "





	Let's hear it for America's Suitehearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falselynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falselynx/gifts).



> for wish 87: "Post snake eater, Eva and Ocelot have to pretend to be a "Normal American Couple" in a house in the suburbs for a mission. They're the perfect american family, they've just got a guy tied up in their basement. Don't worry about it. "

[excerpt from May 2nd, 1967 “minutiae of the ██████████ cul-de-sac Neighborhood Association, president Muriel █████]

The house on 23rd (previously owned by the late ms Fitzgerald, NOT part of the Association) was bought by a couple of newlyweds, the Andersons. Quite young, both blonde. No children yet.

They moved in on Wednesday (May 1st). When asked if they wished to be part of the Association, they agreed.

Under mention that the late ms Fitzgerald did not agree with the “Association’s methods”, Mr. Anderson - first name David, his wife Abigail - deposited not only his application ($50) fee, but the sum of $500 “to make up for the trouble and help the neighborhood.” The generous sum has been put towards the beautification of the cul-de-sac.

[REDACTED]

[Overhead outside First Presbyterian Church of ███████]

“You seen the new people that moved down on 23rd?”

“Sure didn’t see them at church.”

“They just moved. Maybe they don’t know where it is yet.”

“We should invite them. Make sure they’re not....you know. Hippies, or something.”

“They seem upstanding people”

“So did Ms Fitzgerald, and look how that ended.”

[A sound of disgust.] “Hopefully now the neighborhood can be safe from that kind of bullcrap. Speaking of which, have you seen Johnson? He wasn’t at church, either.”

“Must be on one of his work trips. You know how he is.”

“Hmm. I guess you’re right.”

[REDACTED]

[Recording from the second floor of 23 ██████████ , May 7 1967, master bedroom microphone.]

“Next week we should go to church.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I overheard some ladies at the grocery store. We absolutely want to avoid the whole neighborhood thinking we’re communists.”

“We _are_ communists,  [sarcastic] _Abigail_.”

[Frustrated sigh.]

“We are also in North American suburbia. We’d better fit in.”

[Shift of covers.]

“Fine, let’s go to church. I’m sure I can figure out how it works.”

“You’ve never been to church?”

“I’m Russian. What do you think?”

Sigh. “Just follow my lead this Sunday and act like a nice little American boy.”

[Mattress spring squeak.]

“Should I sleep with you, too? To better fit in?”

“Oh darling, I’m pretty sure none of the women in this cul-de-sac have been fucked by anyone but the postman since Christmas.”

“We are newlyweds, though. Isn’t it your marital obligation to lie back and think of the great republic?”

“I’m not that desperate for gay man cock, David, unlike you.”

“I don’t discriminate, I’ll gladly take straight man cock, too.”

“I don’t doubt it. Just pretend you’re attracted to me. You can manage that, I hope.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

[REDACTED]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████ , May 14 1967, entrance microphone.]

[Door slam]

“You stomped on my foot! With heels!”

“You grabbed my ass in church, Adam!”

“David. And you crushed my toe! I think it’s broken!”

“You. Grabbed. My. Ass. In. Church.”

“You crazy bitch, I can’t believe I married you.”

[exasperated groan, stomping steps into the kitchen]

“Take some water to our guest, while you’re in there. I’d go myself, but I think you have crippled me for life.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a whiny bitch.”

[sound of running water, a lock opening.]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, May 14 1967, basement microphone.]

[slow steps, a muffled sound]

"Good morning, Mr. Johnson."

[louder muffled sound: a male voice]

"I brought you some water. I thought you might be thirsty."

[sound of somebody drinking from a glass. Sound of spitting]

"My, my, Mr. Johnson. That's just _rude_."

"Fuck you, commie bitch."

[feminine chuckle, sound of water being poured]

"I guess we'll have to take away your water privileges, Mr. Johnson, just like we had to do with your food. Hopefully you'll be more...docile in a couple of days."

"Suck my di-" [muffled sound]

"See you on Tuesday then, Mr. Johnson. And don't forget: we have all the time in the world, and yours is slowly ticking down."

[steps climbing up the stairs]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, May 14 1967 living room microphone.]

[masculine chuckle] "You look like a drowned rat."

"Fuck off, David. Our guest has decided he won't need water for the next couple of days, by the way."

"I assumed. Can I have some fun with him on Tuesday, then?"

"God, you're so gross when you look like that. Just like Volgin. But yes. Yes you may."

[snort] "Oh, Eva. Come along if you want...you'll learn the difference between a butcher and an _artist_."

"Sure. Whatever."

[REDACTED]

Ocelot looked up at the sky, beer bottle cool in his hands.

"You never see the sky in the US," he said quietly.

"Serves them right for being capitalist filth," chuckled Eva, sipping her own beer. It was late enough that even the all seeing eyes of the neighborhood wouldn't notice them sitting in the backyard, in the dark, drinking.

"Some of them are alright."

"One of them, more like."

"Hmm. Have you heard from him since you left him with his dick out and three billion dollars you didn't know you had?"

Eva shook her head. She looked younger sometimes, and talking about John usually was one of those times. "I've been keeping tabs on him, but it's like...he doesn't want us to find him."

"Yeah." Ocelot took a long sip of beer. He still wasn't a fan of this, but it did feel alright after a long day. Besides, not much vodka around these parts. "I know where he is but I still haven't...you know."

"I thought you'd be glued to his dick the second I left. I'm impressed."

"I'm a _professional_ ," he huffed.

"But you're still keeping tabs on him. That's not very professional."

Ocelot glanced at her. "We both know we made our share of promises in Tselynoyarsk."

"Hmm." She sighed, and poured the rest of the bottle into the grass. "God, this is disgusting. You want some wine?"

"God, _please_."

Two bottles of her secret stash in and Eva seemed to be slipping between her carefully calculated fake drunk persona and being actually tipsy, pink glowing on her cheeks and her smile wider than usual.

"You're not a bad kid, you know," she said, resting her elegantly manicured hand on Ocelot's. "I mean, you are, you're the worst. But at least you're funny."

"Honestly, there's nothing more depressing than a boring spy. I've met so many in the CIA I wanted to shoot myself."

Eva laughed, a little louder than she should have. "God, I know. American spies are the most intolerable self important fucks." Her eyes went soft. "Apart from her."

Ocelot quickly changed the topic. It wasn't hard to get Eva on a roll complaining about having to seduce the most boring men in the world, the amount of mind-destroying small talk she'd had to do to fuck her way into her EVA role.

"Still better than fucking Volgin, though."

Ocelot shuddered. "Stepping on a mine is more pleasurable than fucking Volgin."

Eva squeezed his shoulder. "I guess it never got better with time, huh?"

Ocelot grimaced.

"KGB is fucking nuts, though. You were way too young for that mission."

"I did fine, didn't I? Didn't even need fake tits for it."

"Excuse me, my tits are _wonderful_ ," laughed Eva, and grabbed Ocelot's hand to press it against her breast. "It's not my fault none of you assholes appreciates them."

Ocelot squeezed hard enough to make Eva wince. "Never been a fan of silicone."

"Oh please," she snorted, shaking his hand off. "Like they never fixed _you_ up."

Ocelot smiled. "Do I look fixed up to you?"

"Who knows." She drained her glass. "Maybe they were looking to tap into the market of people with nose fetishes."

Ocelot smiled. So she hadn't looked up who his father was. Not seen his shadow hang around the jungle, like he and John had. Good to know.

"I'm all natural. No end-user modification needed."

"We'll see about that when you hit your thirties, kid."

They finished the third bottle of wine. Eva got a little more handsy, and Ocelot let her before taking her to bed.

Once she fell asleep, he went back into the living room, and carefully erased the last three hours of footage on the recordings.

[REDACTED]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, May 20 1967, basement microphone.]

"I would hope you're more accommodating today, Mr. Johnson”

“Please….water…”

[sound of a glass being filled, drank. Satisfied sigh]  “So fresh. And it could be yours.”

“M-my name is Johnson, CIA identification code 89y5…”

[snort] “Save me the SERE training. You Americans are all the same. As if I haven't heard it before. As if I wasn't trained the same way.”

“You...you're a traitor?”

“I'm whatever you want me to be, Johnny boy. Now. Will you tell me what the Directors are hiding in those safes you managed?”

“I don't...know…”

[a second glass of water is poured and drank]

“Almost out of water. Shame. You look thirsty.”

“I really don't know! I just guarded…”

“And I'm sure the contacts you had with the Philosophers were completely casual. Just asking how you were, right?”

“I don't know what….”

[third glass of water, poured and drank]

“Well. I guess that was all the water we had.”

[dry sob] “please….just a sip….I'm going to die…”

“Uncle Sam really doesn't train you like he should. You won't die for another two days, tops.”

“Please…”

[a zipper opening]

“Well if you're that thirsty…”

“...”

“Well? I drank a lot. I really need to go, now.”

“...”

“Open wide. What a good boy.”

[liquid streaming. Gulping. Coughing.]

“Aw, look what a mess you've made. You must not have been all that thirsty, you spilled all over yourself…”

“You sick fuck.”

[chuckle] “Well I'm not the one drinking another man's piss, here, am I?”

[Dry sobbing]

[steps, fading up the stairs]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, May 20 1967, hallway microphone.]

“You're revolting.”

“Somebody has got to be, or we'll never get results. And I didn't hurt him, did I? haven't touched a hair on his head.”

“Where did you even learn this shit? Psychological torture sure wasn't Volgin's MO.”

“There's so much you don't know about me, Eva.”

“And after that display, I'd rather it stayed that way.”

“I give him two weeks before he cracks.”

“A month, minimum.”

“What are we betting?”

“...John's contact.”

“And if I win, as I'm going to?”

“Zero's contact. I know you've been trying to make a deal with him.”

[long pause] “you're not bad, Eva. You do your homework, at least.”

“Do we have an agreement?”

“Of course. Now get ready. We need to look our best at neighborhood committee meeting.”

[REDACTED]

[excerpt from May 2nd, 1967 “minutiae of the ██████████ cul-de-sac Neighborhood Association, president Muriel █████]

The Andersons were officially introduced to the Neighborhood Association. Abigail brought freshly baked scones, which she promised to share the recipe with me afterward (ATTACHED). David was an immediate hit with the men due to his quick wit and sweet demeanor. 

Personal note: it's nice to encounter a younger couple still not corrupted by the evils of Rock 'n' Roll and Free Love. They are well dressed, smart, polite. They are a true blessing to our Neighborhood in these turbulent times. 

I hope they will stay with us a long time.

[REDACTED]

Eva wobbled a tiny bit on her sensible heels on the way back “home”

“You drank too much.”

“I'm fine. I'm not letting myself be beaten by a bunch of _housewives_ ”

“You're a housewife too, you know?”

Eva snorted. “God, how do they resist blasting their brains out from boredom?”

“The way all common people do. Gossip and fucking each other.”

“Hmm. I'm pretty sure Linda and Mary are having an affair.”

“With who?”

“Each other.”

Adam laughed. “How scandalous. Just as well, with the way Linda's husband looks at me.”

“He's your type. You should fuck him.”

Adam opened the door. “I'm not going to fuck him. He could be my father.”

“I thought _that_ was your type,” giggled Eva, draping herself over the couch.

“Says the one that fucked Sokolov.”

Eva ran a stocking covered foot up Ocelot's thigh. “We do what we must for the mission, don't we?”

Adam sat down, pulling her feet into his lap, absently massaging them.

“That feels good. Those heels are murder.”

Adam reached under her skirt, undoing the clasps of her garter belt to slowly roll the stockings down and off her legs.

“Adam.”

“Just being a nice husband.”

“Are _sure_ you don't like women?”

“Liking women and knowing how to handle them are two completely different things.”

“They really gave you a well-rounded training, huh.”

“Didn't they give it to you?”

Eva blushed just slightly. “That's different.”

Adam continued massaging her feet, digging his gloved fingers into her soles, brushing sensitive spots enough to make her shiver but not enough to tickle.

Eva huffed, pulling her skirt up to mid thigh. “Show me.”

Adam dragged a finger between her toes. “I am showing you.”

Eva wrapped her legs around his shoulders, locked them at his neck and used the leverage to flip him onto the floor, straddling his face.

“It's a very bad idea to tease a woman. Didn't they teach you that?”

Adam pulled her down sharply until she was sitting on his face, the cotton of her panties caught in his nose. “No,” he chuckled low, lips vibrating right against her clit. “But they taught me this.”

“You're the worst, kid,” she breathed, long scarlet nails raking his scalp as she rode his tongue.

Adam said nothing. It was rude to speak with his mouth full.

Eva came a few minutes later, grinding on Adam's teeth and dripping down his chin, a choked cry leaving her mouth.

“Alright, you have to teach me that,” she panted, rolling off Adam's face and reaching for his slacks.

Adam swatted her hand off. “I have an idea.”

Eva laid her head on his chest, her languid, sated sigh completely wasted on Adam. “Let's hear it.”

“How good are you at makeup?”

[REDACTED]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, June 4 1967, basement microphone.]

[quiet steps down the stairs]

“What do you want now?”

“Quiet.”

[sound of packaging]

“Is that…”

“Bread. And some water. But you have to promise me not to tell him.”

“I...I won't. Please…”

[drinking noises, chewing]

“It's all I could bring down without him noticing.”

“You're not going to make me talk by faking being nice, you know?”

“Believe what you want. You're no use to us dead, anyway.” [packaging rustles] “I'll try to come back tomorrow.”

“Um. Thanks.”

[steps up the stairs]

“Hey, uh….what happened to your eye?”

“...I ran into a door. Goodnight.”

[steps fading, door closes quietly]

[a sigh]

[REDACTED]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, June 4 1967, master bedroom microphone.]

“That's fascinating. My teachers never wanted me to do anything with makeup.”

“It's a good skill to have. And voilà! The black eye is gone.”

“Teach me.”

“Teach me that thing you did with your teeth.”

“Deal”

[REDACTED]

[Overheard in the backyard of 32 ██████████, June 17 1967]

“Oh mike, this burger is delicious. You have to teach me your secrets.”

[jovial laughter] “it's a date, kid! Soon you'll be a master of the grill, too.”

“I hope so. Abigail makes fun of me for being a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Well as long as she isn't, everything's fine, am I right?”

[laughter]

“Another beer? Mike, David?”

“Of course, thank you.”

“You know kid. I'm glad you moved here. it's like you're already part of the family!”

“Thank you. I'm very lucky we got to move here.”

“It's such a good thing you took the house from that Fitzgerald bitch. I bet the old bat was a Russian spy or something.”

[laughter]

“We gotta be vigilant in this day and age...old spinster that never goes to church? I'll bet ya she's a commie.”

“Anybody could be a commie. Even our David here!”

[exaggerated Russian accent] “Da komrade, you have found me out! For the motherland or whatever!”

[riotous laughter]

“See kid? You got a sense of humor. I like ya.”

“Thank you Mike. I like you a lot too.”

[REDACTED]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, July 3 1967, basement microphone.]

“Are...are you alright?”

[feminine laughter] “I should be the one asking that. Come on, drink.”

[sounds of water, chewing]

“That looks painful.”

[chime of bracelets]

“I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

“That guy...he’s sick. I’m...I’m a prisoner, but taking his frustrations out on you…”

[sound of a plate being thrown, shattering]

“I said I’m alright!”

“I’m sorry. I won’t ask again.”

“Good.”

[REDACTED]

“What the fuck were you doing down there? I don’t remember telling you to go talk to him.”

Adam slammed the basement door closed, but still yelled loud enough to be heard through it.

“I was just checking on him!”

Eva threw herself against the door with a whimper. Adam clapped his hands. “I told you not to go in there. What game are you playing, huh? What side are you on?”

“Y-yours,” said Eva with a theatrical sob. “I’m sorry…”

“If I catch you down there again I’ll kill you,” hissed Adam, still loud enough to be heard by their guest. “I’ll do it in front of him. Teach him a lesson.”

“I won’t....jeopardize the mission. I promise you.”

“Good,” grunted Adam, with one last fake slap.

They stomped off into the kitchen before Eva started giggling. “He’s falling for it so hard.”

“Not thanks to you. You’re a terrible actress.”

“What, you wanted to be the one to seduce him?”

Adam laughed, soaking a cotton pad into the cream she used to remove her makeup bruises and gently wiping the fake fingerprints on her wrist. “No thanks. Not my type.”

“Speaking of your type, are you gonna sleep with Mike or what? He looks at you like a kicked puppy.”

“It’s not my responsibility to bring the sexual revolution to suburbia. I’m not fucking anybody if it’s not for the mission.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“Nobody with that facial hair, at least.”

“I’m just saying. Getting Johnson to trust me is going to take a while, and you could use a distraction.”

“I’m not going to waste my time playing petty intrigues with civilians.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

[REDACTED]

[Overheard in the backyard of 32 ██████████, July 8 1967]

[clinking of bottles]

“Do you need help with that?”

“Oh no Dave, don’t worry!”

“Please, let me help.” [more bottle clinking as a container is passed from person to person]

“You’re such a good kid, Dave.”

“You’re not so bad yourself...Mike.”

“...Wait. Put the beers down. They can wait a few minutes.”

[bottle clinking stops]

“David, I....”

“Mike, we can’t, I…” [kissing sounds] “I’m married…”

“So am I. But you’re...you’re irresistible…”

[kissing resumes]

[beer bottles smashing onto linoleum]

[REDACTED]

[Recording from the first floor of 23 ██████████, July 10 1967, basement microphone.]

“Please, stop coming”

“What, you want to starve?”

“N-no, but...I heard him. You’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep bringing me food.”

“What do you care? I’m just a commie bitch.”

[a sigh] “I know but...you’ve been nice to me. You seem...like a good person. I don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

“David talks big, but he’s a coward. He wouldn’t really hurt me. He’d have to report back to our superiors, and face the fact he’s on much shakier ground than me. People don’t like him.”

[snort] “I can’t imagine why.”

[a sigh, sound of somebody sitting down]

“He brings results, but...he's unhinged, for sure.”

“You’re telling me. His eyes are so...cold.”

“Enough about him. What about you? Got a family to go back to?”

“Not really, even if I make it out. Always been too busy with work.” [a sigh] “This is making me realize that it probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“I don’t know. It’s easier when you know there’s nobody that will miss you if you die.”

“That’s a sad way of seeing it.”

“That’s just how it is when you’re disposable.”

[long pause]

“Well, I should get back. He should be back any minute.” [chair scrape]

“Hey, what...what’s your name?”

“...Nadia.”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

“You never heard it.”

[steps fading up the stairs.]

[sigh] “Nadia, uh.”

[REDACTED]

[excerpt from May 2nd, 1967 “minutiae of the ██████████ cul-de-sac Neighborhood Association, president Muriel █████]

The committee meeting was missing two members: David Anderson and Michael ███, who are on a fishing trip together. Their wives Abigail and Linda fulfilled their duties. Abigail appeared surprised by the generous amounts David had been donating to the association, but then was moved by her husband's show of good heart and trust in the committee's work. She donated 300$ to the neighborhood bautification.

They truly are a lovely couple. 

[REDACTED]

Eva held the glass to Johnson’s lips, smiling gently.

It slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor when the door slammed open.

“I thought I’d told you to stop coming down here!” shouted Adam, thundering down the stairs.

Eva put herself between him and Johnson. “I’m sorry! David, he doesn’t deserve…”

Adam slapped her, hard, knocking her off her feet. “I decide what our prisoner deserves, you stupid bitch!”

“Hey!”

Adam froze Johnson with a glare. “Not a word from you. You can end this any time, you know?”

He grabbed Eva by the hair, pulling her head back, switchblade at her throat.

“David! Wait!”

“I said it, didn’t I? You come down here again, I’ll slit your whore throat in front of him. Say goodbye to your little capitalist boyfriend, now.”

“Wait! Wait, please!”

Adam dug the knife under Eva’s jaw. Blood started beading on it, and she hissed in pain, fat tears filling her eyes. Okay, she was a pretty decent actress, actually.

“Stop! I...the safes. There were coordinates and maps in them. None of them made any sense. Numbers, names. Only the directors know what to do with them. Ap-apparently they were only a fifth of a larger...thing. I don’t know what it was. They just called me and told me to change this or that coordinate, change a name of somebody who died with somebody else. They were simple names, like John Smith and Christopher Green. I never knew...anything else.” He sobbed, crawling onto the floor. “I swear, this is all I know! It’s all I remember! Don’t hurt her…please…”

Adam pulled the knife off Eva’s throat and with a fluid snap of the wrist, it embedded itself in Johnson’s chest.

“There’s a good boy,” chuckled Eva, rising to her feet and dusting off her legs before pulling out a notebook.

“Now tell her all the names you remember,” said Adam, nudging the knife in his chest with the tip of his boot. “Coordinates and numbers and addresses too. Quickly. Tick-tock, your time is running out.”

Johnson looked up at Eva and her notebook, and tears trailed down his face.

“Aww, look at him. Americans are all the same. They all think they’re the hero. Come on sweetie, you haven’t got all day.”

Johnson coughed a clot of blood, and slowly started listing names.

Adam left them to it and headed back up the stairs to pour gasoline on everything they had touched. Stuffed Eva’s clothes in a bag. He was emptying the last can onto the carpet when Eva dragged Johnson’s lifeless body up the stairs.

Adam took off his gloves and put them on Johnson’s hands. They slipped on easily, with all the blood that was pouring from the wounds Eva had stabbed into his fingertips.

“Do you have any gas left?”

“There should be a can in the kitchen still, but I’m done.”

“No you aren’t.”

Adam watched her pour the gasoline in large shapes onto the perfectly manicured front yard. When she set it on fire, it read

#### MIKE WILSON YOU’RE NEXT

in crackling fiery letters.

Adam laughed, and set the house on fire as well.

And with a screech of tires, they left their little suburban paradise for good just as the distant sirens started approaching the inferno on 23rd.

[REDACTED]

[phone rings]

“Hello, Major.”

“Hello yourself, Major.”

“I hear you’ve been tracking down something interesting.”

“I am. Something you might want?”

“You could say that. Something she would have wanted me to find, I feel.”

“Perhaps. I think I know how to get it.”

“Oh, really? I heard the mission in suburbia was a wash.”

“Eva is a decent spy, but does not have the gift of the full picture quite yet.”

“And you do?”

“I do indeed. There’s an interesting project looking for funding in st Jeronimo. A...friend of mine.”

“Oh, really? Is it a good project?”

“Of course not. It will spell nuclear annihilation for the United States, unless a hero stops it.”

“:...I see. You like playing with fire, major.”

“It’s the only way to see who dares to grasp the flames, major.”

“Very well. Send me the details of this plan. I will make sure everything goes as planned.”

“I will do something better. I will send you the details, and the location of the hero you need.”

“You are a powerful ally, Major Ocelot.”

“As well you know, Major Zero. Goodbye.”

[click]

[REDACTED][TO BE DESTROYED]


End file.
